


An Exercise in Frustration

by ikeracity



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Charles Getting Uncomfortable, Charles is his long-suffering husband, Erik is Michael Fassbender, Erik is an actor, Erik's massive cock, M/M, Shame (the movie), X-Men Bingo, more humor than sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-04 21:26:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/715268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikeracity/pseuds/ikeracity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik Lehnsherr's latest critically-acclaimed film <i>Shame</i> features a full-frontal nudity scene. His long-suffering husband Charles is really very peeved about it. </p><p>Written for the "Erik's massive cock" square on my bingo card.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Exercise in Frustration

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to the lovely listerinezero and geneticx for reading this over for me. You are both awesome.

Charles absolutely refuses to see _Shame_ while it’s still in theaters. He’s not even sure he wants to see it when it comes out on DVD. He’s sure Erik’s spectacular in it—all the critical reviews say so, and there have been talks of BAFTAs and Golden Globes and the like—but he’s predisposed to hate the film with a passion, mostly because Erik has gained a cult following because of it. 

More specifically, his part of full-frontal nudity has gained a cult following, and if Charles hears one more joke about his husband’s penis, he is going to smash something. Possibly the TV, because the entertainment news has been oh-so-subtly inserting sly remarks about Erik Lehnsherr’s massive cock every night without fail since the movie opened last week. 

Charles knows his husband’s cock is massive, and he doesn’t need everyone else in the world knowing it, too, thank you very much. 

Erik laughs for five minutes straight when Charles tells him. _“That’s_ why you didn’t want to go to the premiere with me?” he asks, chortling. “Because you were jealous of other people seeing what I have to offer?”

“Seeing what’s _mine,”_ Charles corrects, annoyed. Then, realizing that that makes him sound vaguely selfish and pathetic, he adds, “That wasn’t _really_ the reason.”

Erik still laughs, a fond look in his eyes. “Yes, of course.” He nuzzles Charles’s jaw and nips at his earlobe. “I’m an actor, you know. Sometimes I have to do things like this—” 

“I _know,_ I’m not stupid—”

“—but I’m yours,” Erik finishes. “So you don’t have to get jealous.”

“I’m not _jealous,”_ Charles grumbles. 

_Really?_ Erik presses. 

Charles nearly rolls his eyes. _You know communicating telepathically doesn’t make it any harder to lie? But yes, really._

 _I like to think I can feel it in your thoughts if you’re lying,_ Erik replies with a grin. Aloud, he says, “I have an interview tonight, so I’ll be back late.” 

“How late?”

“Eight?”

“Then I’ll order pizza,” Charles tells him. 

Erik grins. “Yum.”

*

*

The interview, predictably enough, is all about Erik’s “bravery” in doing a full-frontal nude scene, with half-coughed penis jokes from the male interviewer. The woman interviewer blushes the whole way through, and Charles doesn’t miss the way her eyes stray in between Erik’s legs more than once. 

Charles resolves not to be bothered by it. Erik deserves his fame and success, and if he’s earning critical acclaim and has a good shot at a prestigious award, then it’ll all be worth it. 

The resolution gets harder to keep every time he walks through campus for the next couple of weeks. Stares follow him, the whisperings of curious minds filtering through his loose shields. He ignores them as best as he can, trying to overlook the more invasive questions— _I wonder if there was any CGI,_ or _That’s one man I’d like to ride_ or, mortifyingly, _I wonder how Professor Xavier isn’t limping every morning after fucking **that.** _ He takes to closing his mind completely, because there is nothing more distracting while lecturing than two dozen girls and a handful of gay boys thinking about Erik’s cock in excruciating detail. 

Still, he can’t block out their inquisitive stares, can’t stop them from passing judgment. It seems that he’s doomed to be known as The Professor Who’s Having Sex With That Massive Cock forevermore. It is utterly embarrassing. He doesn’t quite make it through every lecture without blushing at least once. 

Erik, the bastard, is completely unsympathetic to his pains. 

“It could be worse,” he points out. 

“Enlighten me,” Charles moans into his pillow, lying face-down in their bed. Erik’s arm is draped loosely over his back, fingers playing with the hem of his shirt. This would usually be enough to make him feel sleepy and comfortable, but he’s been stuck in a lecture hall all day, and the number of students imagining having sex with Erik in a myriad of creative scenarios is frankly distressing. There is only so much Charles can keep out with his shields, and if there’s anything worse than getting an inadvertent hard-on in class (this is _Erik_ they’re fantasizing about, and he knows Erik’s body probably better than he knows his own), he has yet to find it. 

“I could have a tiny cock,” Erik reasons. “Then you’d be The Professor Who Might As Well Not Be Having Sex At All, which is, in my opinion, about a hundred times worse.” 

Despite himself, Charles laughs. He turns his head to look at Erik and concedes, “All right, so there’s that.” 

“And besides,” Erik says, starting to slither down Charles’s body, “this massive cock is at your service. I don’t see what you have to complain about.” 

“Oh,” Charles agrees happily as Erik trails his fingers up his leg, “and there’s _that.”_

*

*

“They have fan blogs dedicated to your penis,” Charles says without looking up from his computer when Erik walks in the next afternoon. 

Erik drops his coat on the back of the couch and toes off his shoes. “What?”

“Fan blogs. For your penis.” Charles turns the laptop around so Erik can see. “It’s horrifying. Do you know how many nude scenes you did in that movie? I’ve counted your arse six times. _Six.”_

“I thought you said you weren’t going to watch it,” Erik says, amusement fairly leaking from his every thought. 

Charles scowls. “I didn’t. But these people on the Internet have clips all over the place. And pictures.” 

“Did you go look for pictures of me naked on the Internet?” Erik asks with a laugh, heading to the kitchen. 

“Of course not! Raven sent these to me. She thinks it’s positively hilarious.” 

“She thinks anything remotely inappropriate is hilarious,” Erik calls back. 

After a minute, he reappears with two mugs of coffee. He floats the blue one over to Charles by the metal stuck to the bottom of the mug, careful not to spill. Charles takes it and sips, licking his lips at the heat. _Thank you, love._ Aloud, he says irritably, “No, it’s not. You have no idea how many fantasies that movie is fueling. You’ve given people wanking fodder for years to come.” 

Erik laughs again, though a bit of embarrassment colors the edges of his mind this time. “People wank to me?”

“What do you _think?”_ Charles demands, exasperated. “You’ve got the body of a Greek god, and your massive cock is, and I _quote,_ ‘unforgettable.’ Do you know how many students look at me and instantly imagine up a scene that could sell as a porno? _Too many,_ that’s the answer.” 

At that, Erik frowns and sets his mug down onto the counter. He wraps his arms around Charles’s shoulders and says in his ear, “Does it really bother you that much?”

Charles shoots him an acerbic look. “Does _constant mental pornography_ sound appealing?”

 _When it comes from you, yes,_ Erik replies, grinning. 

_Well, how about if you walked around knowing that everyone you work with is thinking about having sex with me? In detail. Glorious detail._

Hot possessiveness surges to the forefront of Erik’s mind. _…I see your point._

After a moment, Charles closes his laptop and sighs. “I’m not blaming you, of course not. It’s a part of your job, and I get it. I just needed to vent a little. I’ll get over it, I promise.”

Erik kisses the edge of his jaw. “Would a little therapy with my massive cock help?”

“If you say ‘massive cock’ one more time,” Charles says balefully, “you’re sleeping on the couch.” 

*

*

“I can’t do this,” Charles says. 

Erik, who had had his head tilted back, opens his eyes and looks down. “What?”

Charles glares at Erik’s chest. At his arms. Anywhere but down. “I’m sorry, but I feel a little sick looking at your cock right now.” 

“Are you serious?” Erik demands incredulously. _You worked me up and got all the way to taking my clothes off and now you aren’t going to follow through?_

 _I’m sorry,_ Charles sends back a bit petulantly, _but you were doing something very disturbing to Lanie Homer today with that cock, and I can’t look at you without thinking about it._

_I was—what? Lanie who?_

“It wasn’t you,” Charles sighs. “It was fantasy-you. Dream-you. Lanie’s in my Advanced Genetics course, and she sat there all morning thinking about you and your damnable cock.” He sits back on his haunches. “God. She’s ruined it for me.” 

Erik thumps his head back against the headboard with a groan. “My own husband can’t bear to have sex with me. What is my life coming to?”

“I’m sorry.” Charles plants an apologetic kiss on Erik’s hand. Then he slides off the bed and picks up his clothes. 

“What am I supposed to do with this?” Erik asks mournfully, gesturing at his erection. He pouts, clearly hoping to lure Charles back to bed. On any other day, Charles would’ve leaped back in without hesitation. Today… _Lanie._

“Cold shower, love,” Charles advises. 

*

*

It doesn’t stop. The media dearly loves to comment on Erik’s assets, as do other celebrities. Erik is teased mercilessly, but he takes it all in stride. Charles, for his part, stands in his lecture hall and nurses a massive headache from trying to focus on his lesson plan and block out everyone’s thoughts at the same time. 

He breaks eventually, because even affable, perpetually-happy Professor Xavier has his limits. He is drawing a detailed eugenics gene map on the board when he hears _seriously, look at Xavier’s ass, how the hell does that thing fit in there_ and the chalk in his hand snaps clean in half. 

Whirling, he says through gritted teeth, “In case you’ve all forgotten, I’m listed as a telepath in your professor catalog. _Kindly_ stop thinking about Erik Lehnsherr’s cock. _No,_ it was not CGIed. _No,_ he does not take any sort of enhancement drugs. _Yes,_ we have sex perfectly fine. Now _stop wondering,_ and for the pity’s sake, _listen to what I’m trying to teach you!”_

Later, he’s slouched in bed with _Pride & Prejudice _open in his lap when Erik gets home. Erik raises one eyebrow at the disgruntled expression on his face and asks, “What’s wrong?”

“I got in trouble today for saying ‘cock’ in class,” Charles grumbles. 

Erik tries to hold in his laughter and fails. “What?”

Charles slips into his mind and plays the memory for him. It isn’t any less mortifying the second time around. He can’t quite believe his own outburst. Erik can’t believe it either. 

_You told them it wasn’t CGIed?_ he asks, snickering. 

_You don’t know how many of them were wondering,_ Charles replies crossly. 

_And you told them we have perfectly good sex?_ Erik sulks. _That was true, back when we actually **had** sex. _

_Your cock is the world’s property,_ Charles shoots back. _I can’t look at you without thinking that._

Erik sighs. _This fucking movie is ruining my life._

_Join the club, darling._

*

*

The paparazzi know better than to get too near to the flat, or to the university. Erik used to crumple up their cameras into little bits of crushed metal—which his agent Emma Frost would always yell at him for—but ever since Charles has been telling him to be less aggressive, he’s taken to just melting the lens, or yanking the cameras out of reach. The reporters steer clear of Erik on the streets, but they have no such compunction regarding Charles. 

On Monday morning, he’s sitting in a coffee shop waiting for one of his students to come in so they can discuss thesis ideas, when all of a sudden, a flash goes off in his face, and he flails a bit, blinded and startled and annoyed in quick succession. 

“Hello!” A woman dressed in a skirt and blazer that screams _reporter!_ appears at the edge of his table. “I’m Sarah from the _Post._ I’d like to ask you a few questions about your husband, if you’ve got some time.” 

“Actually, I’m waiting for someone,” Charles says, frowning at the camera wielded by a hapless-looking cameraman. 

“Oh, this will just take a moment!” She sits down across from him and digs hurriedly through her bag. “I just wanted to hear your thoughts on your husband’s latest cinematic success.” 

Charles sighs and rubs his forehead. There’s no getting rid of reporters like her, he knows from experience. Curt, unhelpful answers are best. Once she’s prodded at him enough, she’ll get frustrated and bid him goodbye. 

“I’m happy for him,” Charles says. “Of course I am.” 

“Any specific thoughts?” she presses. 

“Um…no?”

Sarah has a notebook flipped open in front of her. He hadn’t even noticed her take out a pen. “How about the nude scenes? Do you have a comment on that?”

She’s picturing Erik’s penis in her mind with disturbing accuracy. _No one_ should know Erik’s cock that well except him. Charles nearly spits out his mouthful of coffee. 

“No,” he splutters. “Absolutely not.” 

“Are you sure?” she insists, her pen posed eagerly over the page. “We’ve heard rumors that you’re not too happy about your husband’s…ahem, _body_ being put on display in every major theater in the country. Could you comment on that?”

Charles slams the book he’d been reading shut. “No,” he says, trying not to scowl, “I’d rather not comment on that.” 

“So you _are_ upset,” she says, scribbling something down. “Public opinion says it’s because you’re jealous of sharing something that intimate with the world. Can you confirm or deny that?”

“I’m not _jealous,”_ Charles says hotly, though really, he sort of is. “And I’d really rather not talk about this.” 

“Mr. Xavier—”

“It’s _Doctor_ Xavier, actually.” 

“Doctor Xavier,” she amends patiently, “please, it’ll only take a moment of your time. Would you have preferred it if Erik had turned down the nude scenes?” 

She says _Erik_ like he’s a personal friend, and the words ‘nude scenes’ is all her mind takes to spin helplessly away into some bizarre, well-worn fantasy of Erik on top of her in the backseat of a car. 

Charles stands up so quickly his chair topples backwards. “Excuse me!” he exclaims. “My husband’s dick is my business, thank you very much, and I won’t say another word about it. Goodbye!” 

He snatches up his things and rushes out, steadfastly ignoring the stares of the other patrons. Well, there’s one coffee shop he won’t be returning to. 

Erik is in Los Angeles promoting _Shame,_ so Charles goes to bed early that night, wishing the other half of the bed were occupied so he could curl up and lose himself in Erik’s warmth. 

He’s woken up by his cell phone shrilling out into the silence. With a groan, he gropes along the nightstand until he finds it and accepts the call. “Hullo?”

“Charles. Did I wake you?”

“Yes. It’s nine o’clock here. Which makes it…what, six over there? What are you doing up?”

“Photoshoot. Nothing important. Did you give an interview yesterday?”

Charles closes his eyes and falls back into his pillow. “No, why?” he mumbles into the fabric. 

_‘“My husband’s bleep is my business!’”_ Erik says. “Sound familiar?”

Charles’s eyes shoot open. “Oh no. She didn’t.”

“If you’re talking about Sarah Reston, then yes, she did. Her name’s on the byline.” 

“Fuck,” Charles says eloquently. “She ambushed me in a coffee shop yesterday. I didn’t mean to say anything, but she riled me up a bit.”

But Erik doesn’t sound peeved, only amused. “The bleep is some form of penis, I assume?”

“Dick,” Charles groans, wishing he could dig a hole in the ground and bury himself in his shame. He settles for burying himself in the bed sheets. “Oh, God, I’m so embarrassed. I really didn’t want to say anything, but she was— _thinking_ about you, God, and I got angry. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s all right,” Erik says, and Charles can hear the smile in his voice. “You know, it’s kind of hot when you get jealous.” 

Erik doesn’t understand Charles’s problems at all. His years of being in the media spotlight have inured him to invasions of privacy, but Charles has only just become a semi-public figure in the last couple of years. He thinks he’s allowed a few moments of insecurity.

Erik laughs when he says as much. “You’ll get used to it. Or you won’t. Either way, you’ll just have to figure out a way to cope.” 

How terribly sympathetic of him. “You’re a dick,” Charles grumbles into the phone. 

“A _massive_ dick, don’t forget.” 

“Fuck you.” 

“And now I suddenly want to buy a plane ticket and fly home this instant.” Erik’s grinning, there’s no doubt about it.

“You’re still not getting laid,” Charles says a bit spitefully. If he has to deal with barrages of depraved fantasies about his husband’s cock, then Erik can deal with some sexual frustration while Charles sorts his brain out. 

Erik sighs heavily. “Are we never going to have sex again for the rest of our natural lives?”

“If you’re nice,” Charles answers, “I’ll think about it.” 

“Oh,” Erik says in a low voice that makes a bolt of heat shoot down Charles’s spine, “I can be _very_ nice.” 

*

*

They don’t have sex. Charles takes one look at Erik’s chest and cries, “Amelia Johnson downstairs masturbated to you shirtless!” Amelia Johnson is a sixty-year-old cougar, and the filthy _ideas_ in her head that Charles had accidentally caught as he’d passed her on the stairs may have scarred him for life. 

Erik stares at him, eyes wide. “Now I can’t even take off my shirt?”

“Oh God,” Charles groans, burying his face into the crook of Erik’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry. I wish I could shut my telepathy off, but I can’t. I’m not liking this any more than you are.” 

“This _fucking_ movie,” Erik swears. 

They cuddle miserably instead, which isn’t so miserable because at least Erik’s home and Charles doesn’t have to fall asleep to cold bed sheets. Erik’s arms are warm and tight around him, and he presses his nose into Erik’s neck to breathe in his familiar scent as they both drop off. 

In the morning, they find out that Erik’s been nominated for a Golden Globe, and possibly an Academy Award, too. There’re a slew of other accolades lined up for him as well, and Charles overcomes his entrenched irritation with the film to flutter with pride over all the attention Erik’s getting. He knows how important Erik’s career is to him; Erik’s need to succeed has driven his every thought and action since his mother first enrolled him in a play when he was eleven years old. This isn’t Erik’s first critically-acclaimed film, but it’s the first high-profile one. It could be the stepping stone to many more, and that idea is happy enough for Charles to attempt to make breakfast for the both of them. 

They end up with burnt toast and watery eggs, but Erik munches happily on both as he reads over reviews in the newspaper and wonders aloud what he should wear to his interview later in the afternoon. Charles sits across from him at the dining table and sips at his tea as he grades the latest term papers, red ink coloring his fingers. 

After a while, Charles becomes aware of something twitching at his pants. When he looks down, his zipper has mysteriously undone itself. Erik is trying to hide his grin behind his coffee mug and failing. 

_Really, Erik? A bit juvenile, isn’t that?_

_I haven’t had sex in nearly three weeks,_ Erik replies. _If this is the only way I’m getting into your pants, I’ll try it._

Charles looks at Erik and blushes when he remembers Amelia Johnson. He shuts his eyes and says aloud, “Maybe if I don’t see you, I’ll have a better time of it.” 

“Oh.” Erik sounds strangely breathless at the thought. “I have an idea.” 

They end up on the couch with Erik’s tie wrapped around Charles’s eyes, clothes tossed off to the wayside, all panting breaths and hungry kisses. Maybe it’s the sensory deprivation, maybe it’s the fact that they’ve barely been able to touch each other in over two weeks, but Charles is almost a hundred percent sure he’s never felt an orgasm that powerful, and Erik’s mind is a scrambled mess of incoherency when they finish. 

_Oh,_ Charles thinks afterwards, Erik collapsed on top of him. They’re both still panting too hard to speak, almost too shattered to even think. _We should do that more often._

 _Finally,_ Erik thinks back hazily. _I have a new appreciation for anyone with celibacy vows._

Instead of getting up, they lie curled up on the couch together, Erik comfortably nestled in Charles’s arms. Charles presses feathery kisses to Erik’s neck, and Erik hums contentedly. His thoughts twine with Charles’s, indolent and warm. He falls asleep to Erik’s fingers carding through his hair. 

*

*

Erik wins almost everything. He loses the Golden Globe to George Clooney, but honestly, they’re both too ecstatic about everything else to care very much. The Academy Award is a dream come true for Erik, for both of them. Charles sits proudly in the audience and cheers louder than anyone when Erik takes the stage, and Erik can’t stop smiling as he spouts a speech that begins with “Of course, I’d like to thank…” and ends with a laughing “I can’t decide if I appreciate this movie for what it’s given me or if I want to curse it for nearly destroying my sex life.” 

The curiosity that surges forward in everyone’s minds at that comment nearly makes Charles dizzy, but Erik gets the signal to wrap up his speech, so the buzzing questions go unanswered. Charles just smiles and pointedly ignores the side-eyes he gets from everyone around him. 

Later, they stumble into their car kissing like a couple of teenagers on date, and Erik breathes against his lips, “I love you, you know. Couldn’t have done this without you.” 

Charles laughs. “You can’t manage anything without me, darling.” His hands fisted in the collar of Erik’s tuxedo jacket, he pushes him into the backseat of the car and kisses him, open-mouthed and needy. “Some congratulatory sex is in order, yes? I can cancel classes tomorrow. I’m sure the students will understand.” 

Erik’s answering grin is wide and sharp. He tosses his Oscar statuette unceremoniously into the passenger seat and pulls Charles down on top of him. “Can we get back to having sex more than once every three weeks then?” _Have you gotten over all the Amelia Johnsons in the world?_

Charles groans. “Don’t even _think_ Amelia Johnson right now if you want to have any fun at all tonight.” 

Erik smirks and tugs at Charles’s black tie. “I’m sure we can come up with something.” _For example, I can think of a better use for your tie._

Charles says a fervent prayer of thanks that the car windows are tinted black. 

*

*

The hype over Erik’s private bits dies down after a long while, thankfully enough. Soon, it seems as if everyone’s forgotten it, except every once in a while, someone they’re talking to will glance down between Erik’s legs, and Charles has to grit his teeth against the inevitable _my God, remember that one scene in that movie, no wonder his pants always look tight._

Afterwards at home, when they’re lying drowsily in bed together, Erik will ask smugly, “So did anyone think of my _massive cock_ today?” and Charles will hit him with his pillow and grumble, _“Don’t._ You really don’t want to know what was running through that man’s head.” 

Erik will only laugh and reply, “I can’t help that I’m naturally well-endowed.”

“Yeah,” Charles will say, “but you don’t have to be an ass about it.” 

“Don’t lie. You love my massive cock.” 

_Say that one more time, and you’ll be sleeping on the couch,_ Charles will threaten, but he’ll be smiling as he nuzzles Erik’s neck and sinks into the warm, fond depths of their interconnected minds.


End file.
